


we are the mythic

by babybrackish



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Mythical Beings & Creatures, Side Project, accidental himbo danny, jorel is Special, plot device ocs, tags will be updated as it progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrackish/pseuds/babybrackish
Summary: The hunter sharpens the point of her spear, smiling down at the book of mythics splayed open on the table in front of her. The siren depicted on the page sits proudly on a rock, her hair spilling down her back, her blue wings spread out, her face impossibly beautiful. The hunter would love to add it to her collection. She turns to her partner. “Come on,” she tells him, strapping her spear to her back. “We have some mythics to catch.”
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	1. an introduction

**Author's Note:**

> this also isn’t necessarily meant to be updated regularly! this is just a fun little side project. i am literally incapable of working on 2- things at once. please enjoy!

The beauty of a siren is notorious for a reason. Such strange creatures, half air and half water, both swimming and flying. Beautiful creatures, with beautiful voices and lovely faces, skin smooth and unharmed, their bodies perfectly made. It’s no wonder their beauty is feared as much as their songs; how can something so monstrous be as beautiful as a human?

It’s on a foggy, rainy afternoon that one ferry and its residents spot a siren.

It’s a golden shine on the rock, a human face peeking out from behind one of its wings. The crew and the guests panic immediately, hurrying to find something to stuff into their ears. Some of the crew hold up their guns, pointing them at the siren, as if sirens aren’t known for an ability at evading fights.

They pass by silently, tense and waiting for the song. But the siren never sings. It simply peers at the ship from beneath dark hair, its face soft and innocent, light shining off the golden scales running from its navel to its hips and down its legs, its webbed feet lazily kicking at the water. Its golden wings flutter once, water running down the gossamer feathers.

It peers at them for another moment before its legs merge together and its wings fold into its back, its tail fin expanding from the webs between its toes, its gills re-opening in its sides. It pushes off the rock and slides into the water, its golden glow disappearing as it sinks deep down.

The crew’s collective gaze lingers there for a long, long moment, perplexed by the siren’s lack of voice.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


They say dryads, once they’ve shed the woods and have taken on a human skin, are almost as beautiful as sirens. They’re known to be tall and lanky, for their eyes to be unnatural colors, to have green veins that you can see even through the darkest skin. Inhuman but beautiful. And, supposedly, not nearly as deadly as sirens.

It’s on a misty, black night that a cashier in a rural store meets someone she believes to be a dryad.

He’s tall and slender, curly black hair falling softly around his shoulders, and he has the characteristics of a dryad: a slender face; long, almost-sharp ears; lanky, bendable limbs; an odd webbing of veins beneath his skin; a grin that holds teeth sharper than the average human.

Only, his eyes are a plain brown, and she can see no green through the few patches of skin that lack tattoos.

He catches her staring as she checks his items out, and offers her a sharp-toothed smile. “You all good, homes?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she says, “just thinking.”

He takes the bags from her, careful not to touch her hands, his eyes fixed on her ring. She turns her own eyes to it, watching the light bounce off the silver. 

The presumed dryad leaves with a final smile, and later she’ll say that as she watched him disappear into the night, she could almost swear she heard him howl.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Shapeshifters are of a rarer breed. Or, at least, rare to catch in the act of being a shapeshifter. Really, they’re more common than one might think. Unless you were to witness one mid-shift (an extremely rare event), the human experience of a shapeshifter is narrowed down to a simple case of “they were there and now they’re not.”

It’s on a cheerful, sunny day that a little boy meets a shapeshifter that he does not know is a shapeshifter.

The man passing by the boy’s park bench is tall, his face round, a baseball cap fixed on his head. His appearance is overall unassuming. He is, by all means, a human. Though there is, the little boy notices, a bit of orange in his eyes. It’s very pretty.

The man pauses and smiles down at the boy, a faint note of worry in his eyes. “Hey, little dude, wassup? Where are your parents?”

“Hi!” the boy cheers. “It’s my birthday! My mommy’s coming to pick me up and then I get my birthday cupcake.”

“Oh, really? Well, happy birthday. Stay safe.” The man looks behind himself. “I gotta get going.”

“Okay! Thank you, mist -”

_ “JORDON!” _

The man flinches, and the boy turns to see who’s calling. There’s an angry lady stomping her way across the park. When the boy turns back, the man is no longer there.

On the grass in front of the boy is a single, little lizard. It blinks up at him, and he almost thinks it’s winking.

The lizard scurries away.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


They say that primordials have been completely lost to time, that even their legends have disappeared, the memory lost forever. Not completely lost, of course, for some still know  _ of  _ them, but no one is left remaining who actually knows them. By all means, the primordials are gone.

It’s on a starry, bright early night that a late-night jogger spots a primordial she does not know is a primordial. 

He’s half-man half-not, shards of rock jutting out from beneath his skin, his eyes a vivid blue, butterflies nestled in his hair and on his body, standing in the glow of a street lamp. He blinks across the street at the frozen jogger. He’s big, imposing.

He lifts one hand and waves.

The jogger gapes. “I - wha -” She doesn’t think the…  _ thing  _ can even hear her across the street.

“Sorry,” the thing says, in a deep deep voice. It _can_ hear her. “I’m adjusting.”

The jogger squeaks as the… guy smiles at her. “That’s - okay,” she chokes out. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m, uh, going to -” She points in the direction she came from. “I’m going home. Mhm. I’m going home.”

“Okay,” the abomination says. “Nice to meet you.”

She says nothing as she takes off back towards her home. The creature watches her go with a puzzled look on his face.  
  


  
  


******

  
  
  


They insist that “dragon hybrids” do not exist, that no human could ever even hope to contain the power or being of a dragon in one little body. “They aren’t real,” they tell their children, repeating it over and over and over again as if fearful denials will dictate reality.

On a pitch black night, a driver spots a dragon hybrid.

They’re speeding down a country road, one foot pressed to the gas, when their headlights catch sight of what they think is a deer.

They brake immediately, their foot slamming down as the car grinds, sliding hard, and for a moment they think they’re going to hit it anyway.

They only notice the human face seconds before its owner stomps his foot, the car jerking to a sudden stop as the pavement bends upwards, letting the car crash into it.

They pant, heart racing and hands shaking, staring out at the man.

He’s staring back at them, his mouth pulled into a fanged snarl. Stark, ornate lines mark his skin, his eyes a shiny red. Two thick, knotted horns curl from his head. 

The driver stares in horror as the man snarls at them and then takes off running, his steps seeming to shake the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you guess who’s who?
> 
> for an explanation as to why sirens also have wings here: earlier myths actually depict sirens as being half-woman half-bird. ofc the far more common depiction in the modern days is of the sea creature kind. i just wanted to capture both of those takes!


	2. the mythic

The Ocean embraces Danny, swirling over his scales as he creeps towards the surface. The seaweed tickles his lips as he crouches in it, wary of the shallowness of this part. He tunes in, his hearing expanding to take in the noises of the beach. 

Pulling himself behind a big rock, he places his webbed hands on it and slowly pushes his head through the surface of the water. Cool air wraps around his head as he lifts his eyes just above the waterline. Blinking when his hair sticks to his face, he shakes his head with a little snort and peers past the rock.

There’s a flash of panic as he spots a human face peering back at him, but it quickly disappears when he realizes the human is just one of the children. The little ones never seem to hate him.

He blinks slowly at the little one, fondness warming his heart when the child blinks back, goggling at him with big blue eyes. There's a whoop from somewhere else on the beach, drawing the child’s attention for a brief moment before they look back at Danny. 

Danny slowly lifts his head, until the waterline is beneath his chin, holding the child’s gaze. He smiles at the little one, making sure to hide his teeth, and lifts one hand to wave hello. The little one beams and waves back with a pudgy hand, their floppy pink hat falling around their face. 

Danny chitters, his wings stirring the water as they flutter. The little one watches, fascinated, before giggling and clapping, babbling as they rock back and forth. It takes an extreme effort for Danny not to flash his teeth as he beams back. He flutters his wings again, rippling the water, joy soaring through his veins when the little one giggles again. 

Danny slowly lowers his face halfway into the water, watching the child as he purses his lips and blows out, bubbles streaming from his mouth and rippling the surface. The little one squeals, bouncing as they clap and wave, a lopsided grin on their face. Danny grins beneath the water. 

“Ellie!” calls another human. “It’s time to go!”

Danny shrinks away, retreating into the water, sinking down as the human appears.

He watches from beneath the water for a moment before pushing himself away, disappointment ringing through him. He wishes he had the courage to get his human form. 

Someday.

“What are you doing, silly girl?” the woman coos, scooping her baby up. Ellie blinks up at her with big eyes, turning away to search for her new friend. The only thing remaining where he was is rippling water.

She turns back to her mother and babbles. Her mother presses a kiss to her head and carries her away.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Dylan hops the fence between the gas station and the meadow, his bag swinging in his hand. He has all the snacks he needs for the moon. He gets the worst munchies when he turns.

He looks at the night sky stretching above his head, the mist crawling across the grass. He pauses, glancing around the meadow as a flower twines itself around his ankle. Smiling at the lack of people, he lifts his head and lets loose a loud, wailing howl. An excited, bubbly joy settles in his bones. He loves life. 

Grinning, he picks his way across the meadow, flowers sprouting in his trail as he heads into the forest. 

He lifts his free hand, trailing his fingers across the trees as he passes them. They reach back for him, delighted and friendly. A branch tickles at his arm and he smiles. The grass giggles beneath his feet, the leaves humming as they dance in the breeze. 

Perhaps by blood Dylan is only half a dryad, but the earth loves him just the same. 

He pauses as he makes it to his own tree, reaching out with one hand to touch the hollow. He watches as the tree splits open, the wood pulling apart as it stretches open wide. 

He slips inside, letting the wood close around him, cocooning him. He’s home.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Shapeshifters are, in Jordon’s opinion, the sexiest kind of mythic on earth, though that might be his own bias. 

However, he has evidence. Or, he  _ is  _ evidence. He’s unbearably sexy right now, his bones contorting and popping into place, his organs shifting and morphing as his skin rearranges itself on his body, his own hair pulling in as the new sprouts from “his” scalp.

He yawns, jaw popping into place, and shakes his head. He looks at himself in the dressing room mirror. It’s not exact - it never is when he shifts into other humans - but it’s still pretty good. Solid, sharp face, broad shoulders, triangular torso, somewhat stubby legs, unruly hair, thin lips, brown eyes and hair. Not his own skin, but still damned close to the real guy’s. Not that it matters much anyway. He’s not trying to take the dude’s  _ identity. _

He cracks his knuckles, popping his neck as he rolls his head to the side. He pulls on his new set of clothes before reaching into the pocket of his own jeans, which lay abandoned on the dressing room bench, and withdrawing his phone. He slides it into the pocket of his current outfit.

Balling up his clothes, he stuffs them into his garbage bag and shuffles out of the dressing room. He abandons the dressing room number near the attendant, who’s currently absorbed in a conversation with another employee. He hurries away before she can get a good look at him. 

He heads out onto the street, holding his garbage bag against his chest as he whirls around, heading in the direction of a certain Jessica Smith’s home.

There’s a little something he needs from her.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


George has never seen the night sky. Truthfully, living underground with the other primordials, sequestered away from the dangers of humankind, was a lot better than it may sound. They had everything the surface has: stores, parks, houses, albeit all made of stone and, occasionally, rotting wood. Still, they had regular food, and clothes, and regular materials, all provided by the scavengers that brought things down from the surface. They even had spots of “grass” and moss and little stone-growing flowers.

But there’s one thing they didn’t have, and that thing is the sky.

“Most of the time,” his brother had told him one day, “the sky is blue during the day. Sometimes it’s gray, like when it’s cold out. At night, the sky’s black, with a bunch of white dots. The stars.”

George doesn’t think him saying  _ white dots  _ could even begin to capture the beauty of the actual stars.

His skin is still sore, the rocks embedded in it still wounded from his entry to the surface, but he can’t find it in him to care because this world is so  _ beautiful.  _

He loves it here already.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


“Hi,” Jordon says, and his voice is barely morphed, but that’s okay. Jessica turns around. She smiles at Jordon, her lips painted bright red. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, her sweater and jeans form-fitting on her body.

“Hello,” she says, blinking at him, perplexed by his appearance in her garden. “Can I help you?”

Jordon leans against the fence, hoping to god that no flaws in his shift show. “I hear you’re pretty popular in the, ah… mythic hunting game.” She frowns, her eyes flashing with alarm. He wants to spit. She  _ knows  _ what she’s doing is wrong. Still, he says, “I wanna join in. Got anything good for me?”

She pauses, her lips curling into another smile, and he wants to bite her snake face off. “Well,” she purrs, “there’s a group going out tonight, if you’d like to join them. They’ll be down near the nearby docks, around six pm. Would you like to go with them?”

“I’d love to,” he says easily, as if the thought doesn’t make him sick to his stomach. He and Dylan are about to rock these hunters’ worlds. He tries not to laugh at that. 

“Great.” She smiles wider. “I’ll let them know.” She turns back around, looking towards the entrance of her home and ignoring the faint sound of something crunching. “Now, would you like to join me for some -” She freezes as she peers back over her shoulder to look at the man. 

The man is gone without a trace. 

She blinks. “What?” she murmurs. She doesn’t feel the spider crawling up her leg, nor does she feel it rolling up the dollars inside her pocket and pushing them through the hole in her jeans.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Jorel storms down the path, the ground trembling beneath his feet. He snarls, eyes sharpened as he watches for humans.

He can still remember the cries of the Mother Dragon, the dim light of her eyes, the whooping of the hunters as her flank shuddered with a final breath.

He bares his teeth. He’ll make them pay.


	3. a glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im having a hard time writing my main fic and prioritization is a thing of the past SO have more of this in the meantime

At the next beach, Danny pulls himself from the water, crawling onto the edge of the empty shore. His scales drag pleasantly across the rock beneath him, his nails clicking on the stone. He trills as he flaps his wings, shaking the water from them. Curling up on the rock, he glances around before letting his mouth fall open, his vocal cords vibrating as he releases his song.

He stretches and thins his voice, reeling it back just enough to catch non-human prey instead of humans.

From a shadow in the water, a fish comes swimming out, its yellow body rippling in the light.

Danny halts his song. He shoves his face into the water and snaps the fish up in his teeth. He snaps it twice with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth and swallowing it down.

Danny drops his jaw open and resumes his song. On the shore, a crab begins to scuttle towards him. Danny snaps it up from the ground and devours it.

A warm, full feeling settling over his stomach, Danny wriggles, a satisfied trill leaving him. A cool breeze brushes against his head, his wings stretching out as the air caresses his feathers. He chirrs, fluttering his wings as he breathes in real air.

He’s always liked the surface. It’s so nice up here, calm and still and gentle. 

He tilts his head to the side, watching the waves roll as he finally separates his tail. He kicks lazily at the water, stretching his webbed fingers across the rock. He slides one leg halfway into the water, a little smile gracing his face. The water stirs around his leg, little bits of seaweed tickling his foot. 

There’s a gasp. Danny whips his head around, eyes wide as he spots the shocked face of a woman in her swimming clothes, clutching a blue and white ball against her chest. Her mouth works noiselessly, her eyes round.

Feathers bristling defensively, he backs away, pressing his legs back into a tail and folding his wings into his back, pushing himself from the rock. He thought no humans were here.

 _“SIREN!”_ the woman shrieks right as Danny launches himself away, into the water. He propels himself forward, into deeper waters, barely dodging the rock hurled at him from the surface. 

He speeds away, trailing bubbles behind him.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Dylan stumbles from his tree, stretching out and popping his back as he looks up at the morning sky, streaked with orange and blue. He smiles to himself. He shuffles across the grass, flopping down and yawning wide. He winces at the sharp pain in his gums where his fangs are coming in. He rubs at his mouth, attempting to ignore the heat causing his itchy, twitching skin to flush. He’s not sure why the time right before a moon always has to be the most uncomfortable. 

A daisy tickles his wrist. He smiles, gently stroking its petals with a single finger. The daisy sends a happy buzz up to him. 

He reaches into his pocket, withdrawing his phone and checking the time. It’s 10:16am. Jordon should be here soon.

He flops down, sprawling out in the grass and letting the sounds of nature wash over him.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Jordon finds that getting away from the girl he may or may not have stolen five hundred dollars from is made immensely sexy by the fact that getting away is _very_ easy. 

All he does is shift back into his own form, and then any worry about the lady realizing her money is gone and finding him disappears. He’ll never take that form again. She’ll never find him.

It’s good to be back in his own skin again, walking on his own two feet. There’s always a certain discomfort when you shift into a form that isn’t your own, and there’s a bit of relief in being back to normal.

He fingers the hundreds in his pocket, watching the people milling around him on the street as he walks. Dylan had said to meet in Empire Park. 

Upon reaching the park, he makes a beeline for the row of trees in the back.

Sure enough, Dylan is sprawled in the grass, flowers sprouting from his hair, grass twining around his arms, a rosebud brushing against his nose.

“‘Sup, asshole?” Jordon chirps. Dylan’s eyes snap open.

“Hey, homes.” Dylan pushes himself into a sitting position, the grass pulling away as he does. The flowers remain twined in his hair. “Got anything spicy?”

Jordon plops down beside Dylan, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the money. He unfolds it and hands it to Dylan. Dylan’s eyes go wide as he flips through the bills, his jaw dropping.

“Holy shit, dawg,” he whispers. “Holy _shit,_ this is impressive.”

“I’ll do you one better than that, bro,” Jordon says, leaning in. “The lady I stole it from mentioned that there’s a group of hunters going out tonight. Around six pm.” He looks up at the sky. “Is there time?”

Dylan’s eyes brighten. “That should be enough time. ‘Fuck shit up’ mission?”

Jordon grins. “‘Fuck shit up’ mission.”

He holds his fist out, and Dylan meets it with his own.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


The primordials aren’t gone and they never were. George really wishes people would stop acting like he’s the worst thing they’ve ever seen. Maybe if they weren’t dumb enough to just assume that no one like him exists, they wouldn’t gape at him in horror when he shuffles into the gas station to search for a snack. He’s still trying to find his human skin and all he wants until then is some fucking _politeness._ Did humans really lose all their manners?

He slams a candy bar onto the counter, struggling not to scowl as he meets the cashier’s eyes. He wants to get back to enjoying the world and he’s just not in the mood for the cashier’s wide, terrified eyes and shaking hands. He’s not _that_ scary.

“Um,” the cashier says, voice breaking. “It’s one - one dollar.”

He reaches into his pocket, fishing for the money that his brother had given him prior to coming up. The butterflies leave his body, swirling around him in a cloud before coming back to rest on him again. He smacks the money down on the counter with one half-stone hand. 

Wait. Is _that_ why the human is so scared of him?

The cashier takes it, still trembling. “O - okay, um… have - have a good day, sir.”

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that the human has never seen someone like him before. “Yeah, you too,” he says easily, and then he leaves, butterflies fluttering in his path. He returns his eyes to the night sky above him, sighing in relief.

The cashier swallows as she watches him leave. Once the door has shut behind him, she removes the sticky note from beneath the counter, taking hold of the phone and hurriedly punching in the number on the note.

She presses the phone to her ear and waits.

 _“Hello?”_ says the voice on the other side.

“Hi,” she says. “I’d, uh, like to report a mythic.”

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


“You goin’ with those?” Jordon asks, gesturing to the roses and daisies that remain in Dylan’s hair even after about 8 hours.

Dylan shrugs. “It’s not like they’re gonna angle for me if they know I’m a dryad.” He straps his bag shut, slinging it over his shoulder. The flowers rustle in his hair. 

Jordon bobs his head, slipping his knife into his pocket. “Fair point.” He gets to his feet, stretching out his back and wincing at the _pop!_ that comes with it. 

“Body still hasn’t settled?” Dylan asks, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Shifting into other people always fucks me up for a bit,” Jordon says. He cracks his neck. “Think my kidney might still be in my hip.”

“Yikes,” Dylan says, grimacing and then immediately cringing at the pain in his teeth. He shakes his head. “You gonna be good for this, homie?”

“Well, I mean, if anyone goes for an organ they’re gonna be out of luck.”

Dylan laughs before cringing yet again. “True,” he says, voice a little tight with pain. He grabs his bat and straps it to his hip.

Jordon frowns. _“You_ good?”

“Yeah, it’s all good,” Dylan says. “New fangs are coming in.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Jordon winces in sympathy. “That’s bad luck, dude.”

Dylan tries not to grin. “Yeah, but it’s worth it in the end.” He lifts his gas canister and starts towards the entrance of the alley. “‘Cause the moon loves me, _hyna.”_

“You’re the moon’s hoe,” Jordon agrees, peering down the alley. At the end of it, a small group of people are gathering in front of a shed, the sun hanging low above them. Their backs are turned to Dylan and Jordon.

Dylan laughs. “Moon’s got a whole harem, baby.” He gestures to the people at the end of the alley. “Hunters?”

“Hunters,” Jordon confirms. “Ready to go ham?”

“In the name of the moon, baby,” Dylan says as they start down the alley.

“Slut.”

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Danny lurks just beneath the surface, turning his face towards the waves rippling above him, the sky beyond them. He’s far from the shore now, far from the humans he scared. The water pushes gently on his body, comforting and embracing. His heart slowing, his hair floating gently in the water, he purses his lips and blows out, watching with delight as bubbles stream from his mouth.

He sinks down lower, smiling as sea foam tickles his lips. His anxiety settles completely, the human mishap forgotten as the Ocean lulls him back into calm. He watches the light of the surface grow further and further away from him as he sinks down, down into the dark Ocean, until it’s completely gone.

Letting the seaweed embrace him, he sinks to the Ocean floor.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


“Hey, fuckers!” comes the shout, and the moment the hunters turn around, one is already doubling over, wheezing as a rock plunges into her abdomen.

Jordon races forward, swinging his fist at the face of the same hunter. She goes down with a crash. Dylan swings his bat through the air, connecting with another one’s head. The hunters finally spring into action with battle cries, one attempting to draw his crossbow. That attempt fails when Dylan smashes his bat into the dude’s hand. The guy shrieks and drops his bow, clutching his broken hand.

Jordon drives his knife into one’s leg as they attempt to jump back and slash at him. They go down with a cry of pain. One jumps at him, lashing out with a knife, and screams as Dylan leaps forward and bites them _hard._ Dylan screams, too.

“My _teeth!”_ Dylan howls as he pushes the bloodied hunter away. “Motherfuck -” The hunter screams again as Jordon shifts his leg into an oversized blade and kicks out at them. They go down with another cry, a gash sliced into their hip. 

There’s a threatening shout, and Dylan swings around to see the hunter Jordon stabbed stumbling towards him, clutching their bloody leg. Dylan swings his bat, catching them in the jaw as they angle their knife for him. They go down with a groan. 

Dylan pants, glancing around at the hunters scattered on the ground. The only one still standing is the man with the broken hand, gaping at them with wide, teary eyes.

Jordon glances towards the shed tucked to the side. “This your hunter’s shed?” he asks, voice gruff. The man nods slowly, dazed. “Good. Dylan.” Dylan starts towards the gas canister he’d dropped at the beginning of the fight. Jordon takes a step forward, scowling at the man. “On behalf of all mythics,” he growls, _“fuck you.”_

The man simply watches with wide eyes, clutching the bone of his hand, as Dylan douses the shed in gasoline.

“Light it up, Jordon,” Dylan says, stepping away.

Jordon withdraws a lighter from his pocket, flicking it on and tossing it at the shed.

As the shed bursts into flame, they run.

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


The talkie springs to life with a burst of static. “Got two more reports,” the voice on the other end says.

The hunter picks up the talkie, pressing the button with a glossy black nail. “What’s going on?”

“An unknown mythic spotted at Jones’ Market gas station,” says the voice, static-ridden and faint. “The reporter just said ‘stone and butterflies.’” There’s another burst of static. “And a siren down at Floral Beach. Male, dark hair, golden scales and wings.”

The hunter fishes through her drawer for her pen, clicking it open and scratching down the reports onto her little notepad. “‘Unknown type, stone and butterflies,’” she repeats. “‘Siren. Male, dark hair, golden.’ I get it right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” says the voice. There’s another static flare. 

“Got it.” She clicks the pen and puts it away. “I’ll send some guys to handle the siren while I look for the mermaid.” She frowns down at the notepad. “The unknown one can wait.”

“Affirmative. Shutting off now.”

“Bye.” With a staticky click, the line cuts off. She tosses the talkie onto the table and grabs her spear, carrying it over to the bench grinder.

“So,” says her partner, slamming a book down onto the table. “We going or what?”

The hunter sharpens the point of her spear, smiling down at the book of mythics splayed open on the table in front of her. The siren depicted on the page sits proudly on a rock, her hair spilling down her back, her blue wings spread out, her face impossibly beautiful. The hunter would love to add it to her collection. She turns to her partner. “Come on,” she tells him, strapping her spear to her back. “We have some mythics to catch.”

  
  
  


******

  
  
  


Jorel breathes in ash and smoke, and he feels so alive.

It clogs his nose, infests his throat, crawls down and burns his lungs. He can feel ash gritting between his teeth, the taste of fire and blood on his tongue. His face is smeared with soot, his hands bruised and covered with dirt, but this is the cleanest he’s felt in so long.

He inhales deeply, a grin curling his lips up when it sings through his veins. His head is light in that remarkably euphoric way, his heart fluttering in his body.

The smoke called him here, to the burning building, and standing amidst violent, white-hot flames, he is one with himself once more.

His eyes alight with the flame, he takes a deep breath. He can smell something else past the smoke; the dew of the woods, the musk of a wolf, the uniquely metallic scent of a shapeshifter. He wants to follow it.

“Is someone in there?!” a man in red cries, a hose gripped in his hand, and Jorel knows it's time to go.

Jorel flees into the night, and the only trace that remains is a set of smoldering footprints burned into the gravel.


End file.
